


Affection Not Embrace

by WanderingJane



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Family, Fluff, Gen, Mild Language, birthday fic, pre-boot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingJane/pseuds/WanderingJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>At some point - and don't ask him when because he doesn't remember - Jason decided that his birthday isn't worth celebrating anymore. It doesn't really matter anymore, not when he doesn't know how long he spent buried in the ground, not when he isn't even sure how old he is.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affection Not Embrace

**Author's Note:**

> Rushed and barely edited but it's still technically Jason's birthday, so yay. Title from The Weakerthans' "Slips and Tangles."

At some point - and don't ask him when because he doesn't remember - Jason decided that his birthday isn't worth celebrating anymore. It's his deathday that he has burned into his brain, a day he spends face down on his bed, getting up only to piss or grab something from the fridge. But his birthday? That doesn't really matter anymore, not when he doesn't know how long he spent buried in the ground, not when he isn't even sure how old he is.

A clock in one of Gotham's tallest and richest towers chimes midnight, and Jason's half-tempted to laugh. He doesn't, only checks the clip in one of his guns and shifts on his heels, his legs starting to cramp up from crouching for so long in the cold. 

It's been three hours and there's still no sign of the Riddler. There was supposed to be something big going down inside the warehouse, some new deal with Nigma and Crane, but the night is quiet and Jason's starting to think that the tip he'd gotten was lousy. 

It's a slow night, slower than he's seen since he came back to Gotham, and he hasn't seen any capes running around. He isn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed or if it just proves that Bruce never gave a crap about him.

Jason waits for another half hour before calling it quits. His legs ache as he straightens himself, and damn if he doesn't feel old, ridiculous since he can't be more than twenty, but the creaking in his bones and the heaviness in his limbs say otherwise. 

He doesn't run home, doesn't bother leaping over rooftops or swinging across buildings. He wanders down Gotham's streets in the general direction of his apartment, not in a hurry to get to the empty apartment waiting for him but not in the mood to go looking for trouble, either. A few of the people he comes across give him nervous looks and a wide berth, but most are too busy from a long day at work and their own problems to care. 

The stairs groan as he climbs up the four flights to his apartment, grumbling under his breath the entire time. The dead silence that greets him when he finally pushes into through his front door is almost enough to make him turn around, but there's nothing waiting for him out there, not even a stray criminal to beat up. 

Stumbling toward the fridge, he pulls off his gloves with his teeth and toes off his boots, leaving pieces of his costume strewn on the floor as he crosses the small room. He plops down on his lumpy couch, and flicks the television on, turning the volume up loud to drown out the oppressive silence that makes his skin itch.

His coffee table is littered with books, old take-out containers, and empty bottles of beer. One of the bottles is half-way full, and Jason takes a swig of it, wincing as he swallows the stale, warm beer but not caring enough about the taste to get up and get another from the fridge. 

There's some awful movie playing on tv, some thriller with a big-name movie star that Jason can't name. There's a lot pop culture that he doesn't understand, that he's missed. He changes the channel in mild disgust, not really paying attention to the changing faces, but still hoping for something familiar. 

He gives up a couple minutes later and shuts off the tv, tossing the control on the couch next to him. He's startled when his fingers go to rub his tired eyes and finds that he still hasn't taken off his domino mask. It only stings a little when he pulls it off. 

A quiet rustle draws his attention, but he's careful to keep his eyes on the blank screen, his hands toying lazily with the mask. 

"You bring me a present?" he says, not bothering to turn his head toward the darkest corner of the room. The smirk he forces to his lips won't be able to fool anyone, especially not Bruce, but Jason has his pride. 

There's another quiet sound, and it almost makes Jason laugh because Bruce can make even the creak of his old floor sound awkward. 

"You gonna say something, or are you just gonna stand there and wait for me to knock out?" 

Jason counts every uncomfortable second that ticks by before Bruce finally steps out of the shadows. He's still got his cowl on, and the white lenses hide his eyes, but Jason can still read the tension is his shoulders and in the hard set of his mouth. 

No one would ever describe Batman as looking sheepish, but it's a close thing as Bruce stands in front of Jason's couch. He pulls out a box he had hidden in his cape, and all but shoves it at him.

Jason feels his mouth go slack at the sight because seriously what the _fuck_ -

Bruce clears his throat once, and says, "Happy birthday, Jason." When Jason doesn't take the present or say anything, but continues, his voice even gruffer than normal. "Alfred made it."

Jason's hand shake slightly as he takes the box, and even though he isn't surprised that Bruce doesn't comment on it, he's still grudgingly grateful for the silence. A gloved hand squeezes his shoulder, and Jason finds himself leaning into it for a moment before he pulls away, a scowl on his flushed face. 

"Thanks," he says, not trusting himself to look up. He'll ruin it if he does. He'll yell, or Bruce'll say something condescending about guns, and it'll all end with punches being thrown and his apartment more wrecked than it already is. He doesn't want that. Not tonight. 

The box is covered in Superman wrapping paper, and Jason almost laughs as he imagines the face Bruce must have made when Alfred handed it to him. Jason looks up, a joke ready on his lips, but Bruce is already gone. 

_Typical._

He pulls open the box to find a slice of Alfred's chocolate cake - Jason's favorite - inside. Alfred would make it every year for his birthday, but it's been years since he's had any. It's been years since he's celebrated his birthday. The tell-tale prickle in his nose makes him set the box on the crowded table. 

There's a note tucked inside the box, and Alfred's neat writing is recognizable even in the dimly lit room. He snatches the paper so quickly that it crumples in his too-big hands - hands he barely recognizes anymore - and he has to smooth the note before he can read it. 

_Happy birthday, Jason. I hope the cake is to your liking. Your presence at the manor is sorely missed. We hope to hear from you soon._

_\- Alfred_

Underneath Alfred's writing is Bruce's own scrawl. It's only one line, but it hits Jason like a punch to the gut.

_Happy twentieth birthday, son._

Jason swallows roughly, and his breathing grows ragged and too loud in the quiet room. _Fuck._ This isn't how it was supposed to go. He wasn't going to care, he was going to watch a shitty movie and eat cold leftovers and maybe catch a few extra hours of sleep. 

And he was going to be _super pissed off_ about Bruce forgetting his birthday. But instead...they remembered. They _cared_. 

He swipes at his eyes a couple times before tugging the box into his lap. The tv roars to life, and Jason spends the rest of the night watching reruns of some kids' cartoon and eating his cake out of the box. 

It's just as good as he remembers. 


End file.
